After
by Summer Leigh Wind
Summary: "No stopping it now." England whispers. "It can always be stopped." France declares fiercely. "Not this one." England breathes, finger rising to point at a single image among the thousands. France's eyes train on it, it's a sleek black plane over London and from it is falling a bomb. A series of WWIII and Post-WIII stories, vast range of characters, OCs included.
1. Promise

_Promise_

**Characters: France, England****, mentions of America and Canada**_  
_

**Set: Post-WWIII  
**

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He's careful as he treks through the scarred forest, thieves and sometimes rogue soldiers just looking to kill hide in the foliage waiting to strike the unsuspecting. Not that there are too many people to strike, most of the people in the sparse community live by the river on the other side of the forest's edge. He gives a tiny smile, lifting a foot high over a rotting log. He adores them, truly; they are one of the few pockets of his people left following the last war. The little community has goats kept in a stable in the middle of the village, but they are kept for milk; not meat. And after all they've done for him the past month; caring for him after they found him in the meadow behind their village unconscious. The least he can do is hunt them some pheasants or maybe' if he is lucky' a deer. Of course, they'd warned him against it and told him it wasn't necessary, but he was man who paid his dues.

A soft rattling comes from his left, he raises his bow and arrow and waits to strike. What tumbles out of the brush is not an animal, but a person. "England? The teenager gasps.

The bow drops from his numb fingers and clatters to the dirt below. He knows the teenager, but the last time he'd seen him he'd been a full grown man sporting burns and gashes from the destruction of his nation. England cannot judge, though, he is much younger as well, teetering on puberty even. The pre-adolescent realizes now that this physical state is by no means because of magic, but because of the destruction of civilization and progress; he is back to where he was before the discovery of The New World. The teenager is stepping closer, hands in front of him trembling. "England..." He croaks.

"Stay back!" England barks, body tense and ready to run. He does not trust the traitor; he had been ally, but in the end had bombed his coast destroying his cities and killing his precious citizens.

Tears are leaking from the young man's eyes. "England, please..."He begs. "You-"

"No!" England screams, flinching at the own high pitch of his voice. "Stay away from me! You are a traitor!"

The blond shakes his head, a choked noise bubbling out of him. "England _désolé, _I'm so very sorry! It should not 'ave 'appened, but they came and-" The older boy brought a hand to his mouth choking back a sob. "They _overpowered _us _mon lapin_! I tried, I thought-" He's crying now hand's beseeching England to listen. "But, you are _alive_!" He smiles through his tears and snot.

England stands still, wondering if what he is about to do _will_ be the death of him. He takes one step forward before collapsing in the older boy's arms. France is weeping into his hair, rocking England. "What happened after?" England whispers, his sliml finger tangling in France's golden locks.

France holds him closer. "_Amerique_ rallied the other nations in a one last ditch effort and by 'eaven we won. I can not tell you what 'appened to the others, I do not know. I've 'eard news from Spain, it gives me 'ope more of us are alive. I fear, though, not all of us made it."

England Looks up into France's pained features. "Why are you here?"

"It is my fault you are like this. If I 'ad been stronger-" England's quick to cut him off.

"No. Don't say that, you destroyed the enemy I didn't." England snarls. France's hand runs through his hair.

"Forgive me, but I am glad you were not there too. So many more lost their lives in that last battle...I fear if you 'ad been you'd be gone now."

England squirms. "I would not!" He huffs indignant. A smile ghosts along France's lips and England wishes desperately for it be last longer. Sighing, England becomes boneless in France's grips as elder hums a quite lullaby. Suddenly, he sits up bracing himself against France's shoulders. "I need to be going. They'll be worried if I don't come back soon." He tells France.

"Who?" France whispers.

"The little village that's taken me in." England tells him.

France nods. "I see." Glancing around England he sees the abandoned bow and arrow lying carelessly in the rotting leaves. "What were you doing before?"

England turns his head, to gaze where France is staring. "I was hunting, but not with much luck."

France hums and a hand strokes his smooth chin. "'ow about I 'elp you find a pheasant or two and I take you 'ome?"

England gives France a wary look. "What about you? Shouldn't _you _be going home?"

The older boy waves a flippant hand, rising to his feet; righting England as he helps him stand back up on coltish legs. "The leader of the little fishing village I'm living with sent me to see if there are people still left in England."

England's green orbs glow. "Alone?" He murmurs.

France nods. "They know what I am _mon lapin_, I could not keep it from them."

England scrunches his nose. "Why not?" France ruffles his hair, and England finds himself biting back the urge to bite the taller boy's hand.

"Don't you think they'd notice in a year or so when I 'ave not aged?" He asks, a teasing lilt to his words.

England blinks. Then looks to the ground, scuffing the boots one of the village boys had lent him. "Yeah, I suppose they would.." He grumbles, a bit embarrassed that he's forgotten how stagnant nations' growth tends to be.

France places a hand on his shoulder. "I can be there with you when you tell them." He offers.

"Why would I tell them?" England questions, giving the blue eyed boy a critical glance.

France stares at him in exasperation. "You do not think they will let you, a _child_, just leave their village alone do you?"

England's eyes grow as his mouth drops open. "They won't force me to stay!" England yells, but a feeling of dread floods him. "They will." England whispers.

France sighs. "They trust you enough to 'unt on your own. I do not believe they not will baby you _mon lapin._"

England shrugs. "I guess.." He mumbles. The other nation bends down picking up the bow and arrow offering it back to England.

Smiling he says "Now why don't we look for a pheasant?"

**XxXxX**

The little village had taken the news well, maybe even better than that. The lot of them decided to take his existence as a good omen, it was if anything to them England would rise again. Sitting on the stoney cliff edge England stares out past the Atlantic Ocean. He sighs quietly, a melancholy feeling blooming in his chest; France takes a seat beside him. "What's wrong _mon _lapin?Are you truly so upset to see me go?" He jokes.

England glowers. "_No_." He snips. After a moment of silence, he drops his head into his hands and inquires "Do you think they're looking out this way?"

France gaze flickers to England. "What do you mean Arthur?"

England gestures a hand out across the ocean. "The boys, Francis, do you think they're thinking about us?"

France bites his lip. "I 'ope so_._" He answers.

England sighs, picking a rock chipping up and tossing it into the water. "I want to see them." He says.

France shakes his head. "I do as well, but that is still a while off."

England sniffs. "I'm scared, Francis."

The older boy slings an arm around his shoulders and shushes him. "I promise you, things will get better and the boys will be there waiting for us when we come."

England hiccups, burying his face in France's jumper. "Swear?"

France places a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "I _know_ Arthur."

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**I hope you all enjoyed this story. Please review, ideas, suggestions, comments all welcome and thank you for reading.**

**_Words:_**

**___désolé_ - Sorry**

**_Mon Lapin - My Rabbit_**

**_Amerique - America  
_**


	2. Touched

_Touched_

__**Characters: America and a bit of Canada.  
**

**Warnings: Death.  
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_6 months after the war..._

"Hurry! There are people inside this building!" A teenager screams, as he pushes away the rubble. The small band of rescuers hurry to comply, but it seems maybe he won't need it; for being so young he is quite strong easily pulling away a large piece of cement. He dives to the ground brushes away more dirt and broken pieces. They hear soft whimpers and then the boy is standing, a little girl cradled in his arms.

His face is grim as he hands the tiny doll of a girl to one of them. "I don't think her family made it." He mutters and several of his men crane their neck to peer over the rumble only to see fresh blood soaking into the cement's pores. They cringe and he sighs, maybe it would be best to evacuate out of this part of the city. Though, not the worst hit section of New York, very little of it is unscathed from the bombings.

The child gives a soft cry. "Momma," she sobs. The boy leans over the little girl brushing away a dust streaked lock of night colored hair.

"You're gonna be okay sweetie, these guys will take care of you." He coos.

He frowns and squints. The boy hardly looks old enough to drive let alone be in this section of the city on his own. "Hey, kid." He growls. "What are ya doin' out here? Kids are supposed to stay away from the collapsed buildings." The boy gives him a weary look and reaches into his jean pocket.

"Here, I-uh have permission from the mayor." He tells him handing over a piece of scrap paper.

He scans it. America, huh? Well, he should really quit being surprised by this point. "It's an honor ta meet ya Alfred. I'm John Weiztman." He says, offering his hand to shake.

The boy's eyes gentle, taking John's hand. "Nice ta meet ya too, John." America's grip is strong and it spurs the growth of John's crippled hope. Looking into the young, dirt smeared face John knows it's only a matter of time until America comes back to its self, maybe, even stronger than before.

The boy's eyes abruptly meander to the sea. "I'm real sorry, but I gotta go now." He says voice heavy with sincerity and John nods.

"Goodbye" He says. The blond gives a quick grin, before jogging off into the ruins of the once great city.

"John, what do ya want us ta do with the kid?" One of his men ask, the little girl in his arms mewling for her missing family.

"Giver 'er here." John demands, arms open for the little bundle. His man is quick to comply, shifting the child into his arms. He smiles down at her, she can't be more than three or four and then her closed eyes open to reveal sky blue orbs.

John's breath catches. "Momma?" She breathes. John sighs and shakes his head.

"Hi cutie, your mom's not here anymore." He tells her and tears glaze her eyes. "What's your name sweetheart?" He inquires.

"Madison" She hiccups. Wipe away a tear and muddying the girl's tan cheek, John brings her closer.

"What a beautiful name. How'd ya like ta come home with me?" He asks.

"John..." One of his men warn, shifting in the corner of his vision.

"No other survivors." He states, pressing the child's hare paced heart against his own slower rhythm.

His man is hesitant to answer. "Well, yes." He answers after a pause, uncertainty bleeding clear into his words.

"Then, it's fine. She'll do fine with me and my family, better than she would at the Children's home." John states, not even caring that his men flinch at the callousness of his words. Putting on the brightest smile he could muster for little Madison, John whispers. "How 'bout it sweetie? Wanna come stay with me?" The child's head bobs in agreement as a powerful yawn leaves her and she settles in his arms; slipping into sleep. He chuckles, bringing her closer to press a soft kiss to her dirty face. She's going to be something special he knows, she's been saved by America and if that isn't a sign John doesn't know what is.

_36 year later..._

Smiling and shaking all the hands thrust in her face, President Weiztman tries not to cringe as the camera's flash in her face. From the corner of her eye she catches sight of two young men, both are blond one with unusual violet eyes and the other-her red painted lips open in a soft gasp as he approaches. She _knows_ him. Turning away from all of the well-wishers, fellow politicians and newsmen and women she turns to face him solely. Tears glimmer in her eyes as she takes a step towards him. She offers him and hand, making him take the leap to place his hand in her own.

"Hello, Mrs. President." He smiles, his eyes hint at something; maybe he remembers her.

"Hello Mr. Jones." She greets, giving him the firm shake her adoptive father taught her when she was six. "I remember you." She tells him softly. His eyes widen. "I don't know if you remember...but, I was a little girl you rescued from a collapsed building, in New York. My father-adoptive one-told me up until the day he died rescuing another little girl, the story of how he met you and adopted me."

His eyes show he isn't in the present any longer. "I-I remember." He murmurs. "You were hardly any bigger than a doll then and your father, John...he was a good man." He says, voice earnest and kind.

She gives a small nod. "I-Thank you, you saved me and gave me a chance to do all of this." She answers, gesturing around her. America nods and smiles.

"I'm glad John gave you the chance to get here, so many kids after the war..." He trails off, he gives a quiet sigh continuing "Not all of the orphans after the war got a fair chance."

"I know." Madison agrees, solemn.

He steps away slipping back into the crowd. "I congratulate you Madison Weiztman." He salutes, before disappearing from her immediate sight.

"Mrs. President! Mrs. President! How do you feel about being the first elected president since 3rd World War?"

Madison turns to the newsman, a wide grin on her face. "Absolute gratitude for my country and people who have given me this chance."

**XxXxX**

Leaning against the wall away from the crowd, America smiles. "Al, what's with the funny smile?" Canada questions, eyes flickering between him and the new president.

"Nothin' bro, just happy 's all." The larger man answers, his smile only curving further in secrecy.


	3. One Lost, One Gained

_One Lost, One Gained_

**Characters: Germany, Austria and some Prussia**._  
_

**Warnings: Character Death.**

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"'s all right West, I got more chances than a lot of us." The albino man whispers, his blood tinted lips peeled back in a wan smile.

"_Nein_, I need you _bruder_." The blond hiccups, pressing the frail hand against his tear dampened cheek.

"Shh..you'll be fine, I raised you to be awesome after all." The man chuckles (hacks), his eyes squinting in good humor. West sobs into the older man's chest, pleading with him to stay. The albino's red eyes soften and with what little strength he has left, he wraps his free arm around the army uniform clad young man. "Calm yourself, _mein bruder. _I love you an' 'member to take breaks alright?" He sighs, squeezing the broad shoulders.

"_Nein, nein _don't _leave_ me," The blond begs.

"Nations don't last forever, Germany. I promise-" The albino suddenly breaks out into a choking coughing fit. Germany cradles him close, rubbing circles and soothing how ever he possibly can. Slowly, the man's breath evens, then it lessens and as the crimson eyes close for the last time; the albino mouths goodbye.

"_Nein!_" Germany howls, holding his dead brother's body to his chest.

**XxXxX**

"_Nein!_" Germany cries, jolting awake in bed; sweat soaking the sheets beneath his body. "_Nein..._" He whispers, tears muddling his vision. Angrily, he brings his arm to his face swiping away the wetness. "_Nein! _I will not continue to cry over this!" He growls to himself. Sitting up, he swings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands. Walking over to the small chest of drawers shoved into the corner of the the room he pulls out a pair of well-worn jeans and a shirt with the army insignia printed on it. Pulling them on he walks out of his room and out the backdoor in the living room. Stalking down the gravel road he leaves the small community he'd taken residence with for the past several months and into the sparse woodlands.

As he walks, the moon drifts away and the light of the coming sun melts away the night. Germany does not stop, he can't; his brother's death has, _is_ haunting him nearly every night. He can not understand why it plagues him so, after the Second World War he had thought his brother dead for a short while and nightmares, not like these, had not haunted him so terribly. Clomping through the brush he stops abruptly at the roar of childrens' voices and the thrash of feet running threw the green sprouting up from the blackened earth.

A tiny brown head followed by a small body pops out of the foliage and the head tilts up and Germany's breath catches at the familiar sight of violet hues hidden behind a pair of bent glasses. Recognition flashes in the boy's eyes and he runs straight at him arms open and pleading. Seconds later a group of boys ranging from seven or eight to twelve run towards them yelling beastly words. Without a single thought, Germany catches the child in his arms. The crowd of boys comes to a skidding halt only inches away from him and Germany finds himself glaring at the children as the little boy in his arms quivers.

"What are you doing?" He snarls at the children.

An older one, straightens and brushes a fringe of blond hair from his eyes. "We were _playing_." He sneers, eying Germany he questions. "Who're you?"

"Ludwig. I am from a community in Germany, I was sent out to look for groups to trade with." He lies. Intensifying his glare and frightening a few of the youngsters Germany hisses "Why were you chasing this child?"

"He's a freak!" One of the smaller, uncouth boys shouts. This is met by giggles and angry shushes.

"What would your parents say?" Germany admonishes. A few of the children manage to look guilty and Germany sighs. "Take me to your home, _ja_?" The boys whispered amongst themselves before nodding and turning around to lead him to the few houses they called home. Walking up a muddy road, one of the boys runs ahead to an older man talking to a woman with a baby in her arms.

"Mr. Bohm! Mr. Bohm!" The old man's head turns to the child and he smiles kindly as the child chatters away. Eventually, he glances away from the child and to Germany; patting the small boy's head he begins to come over to Germany and the few children who had yet to scatter.

Leaning heavily on a cane the old man stops in front of Germany. "_Hallo_." The man greets.

"Ah, _ja, hallo_." Germany mutters, shifting the child as he squirms to face Mr. Bohm.

"I see the boys were giving Roderich a hard time again." He sighs.

"This happens often..?" Germany inquires.

"Enough." The man answers curtly.

"I see." Germany murmurs, staring at the man. "Where are this boy's parents?" Germany asks.

The man's gray eyes darken to a stormy color. "He is an orphan. The child lives with me." He answers and as if on cue, Roderich reaches for Mr. Bohm. Handing the boy over, Germany blinks.

"He has not spoken...is this normal?" Germany inquires.

"Well, yes. The child has not said a word since we found him outside our hamlet, his name pinned to his jacket." Mr. Bohm replies, shifting Roderich in his arms. Germany purses his lips. Obviously the war had greatly affected Austria, in more than a psychical sense, but he had not realized the extent.

"He's lived here long?" Germany wonders.

Mr. Bohm frowns. "You certainly have taken an interest in my boy, why is that?" The old presses Roderich's head to his shoulder and the child gives a plaintive hum. "He's been here two, almost three, years." He answers in the end.

Germany nods. "I'm sure you've noticed how he does not grow?" he inquires.

"Many of the children are stunted." Mr. Bohm argues, his body tensing in offense.

"Mm-hm, he comes down with strange illnesses? Or becomes injured in ways you can not explain?" Germany presses, eyes focusing on Austria; who's eyes are wide and lip trembling.

The old man sputters. "H-How?"

"He is a na-" Germany begins, but is cut off by the small boy's hoarse cry.

"_Nein! Nein!_" Roderich cries. "D-Don't tell-" He hiccups, tears spilling out of his violet orbs.

Germany leans down until his face is even with the child's own. "Why not _Österreich_?" The old man gasps, but Germany ignores him and gazes into the little boy's conflicted eyes. "Why?"

"I-I _Opa _Bohm won't want me anymore!" Austria cries.

"_Nein _I'll always want you Roderich." Mr. Bohm tells him. Austria's wide eyes look up, gaze mixed with hope and terror.

"E-Even if you knew everything I've done?" He whispers.

"Even more! I will never hate you for anything you've done." Mr. Bohm agrees, staring straight into the boy's eyes promising him all of his trust.

"Mr. Bohm...he was an adult the last time I saw him." Germany explains.

The old man startles in shock. "Really? How does one grow younger?" He inquires, voice tinged with curiosity.

"I do not know entirely..." Germany says awkwardly. "I think-though I'm not sure, it might have to do with how far Austria as a whole nation has regressed. If I were to give you my best estimate I'd say Austria's back to a young nation just starting off." The muscular blond explains.

"And you? Who are you?" Mr. Bohm inquires.

"I'm Germany. My people...they were very well prepared for this war." He answers. Mr. Bohm nods his agreement before smiling.

"_Ja, _you were, I'm glad you helped us as much as you did. Now, why don't you come to our home? Roderich can play us a lovely piece on the piano while I fix us something to eat." Mr. Bohm offers gesturing to a house with several boarded windows.

"Thank you." Germany murmurs.

Mr. Bohm grins and nods. His gray eyes glint and he mutters "I have one more question."

"_Ja?_" Germany mumbles.

"Can nations be family?" He asks, eyes large in interest.

Germany looks to Austria, for the first, real, time; he's a scrawny and bespectacled boy, with huge violet eyes. Germany knows it would be easy to stomp out this tiny nation now and part of him wants to, if only for the fact the child is not his brother. His heart pangs, if only Prussia could be here instead...but, his brother wouldn't want him wallowing in despair over his death; would he? Austria's staring at Germany with eyes mixed with pain and worry, _you need to take care of him_, a voice like Prussia's murmurs in the back of his mind. Giving a resolute nod, Germany takes a shuddering breath. "_Ja, _in fact Austria is my brother." He replies to the old man.

Mr. Bohm smiles. "Wonderful! I'm glad someone will be able to watch out for my boy when I am no longer around!" He laughs, hugging the surprised child and laying a damp kiss to the crown of his head. Austria is gazing at Germany in a questioning, uncomprehending way and he _knows_ the child wants to know where Prussia is. But, Germany ignores it all and comes in close planting the lightest of kisses right beside the boy's ear. "_Mein Bruder_." He breaths.

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**What do you think? I'm still excepting any suggestion any of you might have to make the story better or for other chapters. Please review, thanks for reading.  
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**_Words:_  
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**_Ja - Yes  
_**

**_Nein - No  
_**

**_Hallo - Hello  
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**_Opa - Grandpa  
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**_(Mein) Bruder- (My) Brother  
_**


	4. A Message

_A Message_

**Characters: England, Ireland, a bit of France and passing mention of Northern Ireland. **

**Warning: Character death.  
**

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When he steps out of his home that day the sun shining and not a single cloud in view England smiles. Eagerly, he starts for the meadow a plan for his day already shaping. Settling against the back of a tree at the edge of the meadow England sighs, thumbing through the pages of his book. Before he can even throw himself in the story a small group of children are crowding around him. "Play with us!" A little freckled boy begs of England. England groans; he would rather read for a bit outside while the weather is still nice, but it seems his plans are changing.

Snapping his copy of _Peter Pan_ closed, England tucks it away in a hollow knot of a tree beside the meadow. Smiling down at the four younger children he questions. "What are you going to play?"

"Tag!" A plump girl chirps, her smile wide.

"Oh? I suppose I could play for a bit.." He agrees. The children cheer and England yells "Not it!" Before running away from the group, the other children quickly follow his example until only a skinny lad is left alone a scowl on his face. He quickly jogs after the plump girl, Cassie, England thinks. Running near the edge of the forest England nearly trips over a small figure.

"Wah!" The blond yelps tumbling to the ground. "Oww" He hisses, pushing himself up on wobbly arms. Opening an eye; he's met by the sight of a glowering leprechaun, rubbing at his head . England gasps, reaching out to poke it. At the hesitant touch it only glares more at him; the sound of feet comes up behind him, but England doesn't turn.

"Arthur, what's that?" One of the children ask.

"A leprechaun, but what it's doing _all_ the way in England, I can't tell you." He murmurs. The children are hushed in awe and England finds he enjoys their fascination. The thrashing of a person comes from the brush in front of the meadow and the children back off, ready to run as the adults had taught them to do. England looks away from the leprechaun and is met by pair of sparkling green eyes hooded by thick red brows. "Ir-Sean!" England cries, scrambling up to his feet.

The teenager smirks. "My how ye've shrunk!" He laughs.

England scowls up at the taller boy. "What are you doing here?"

The redhead frowns. "Unlike ye, I'm lookin' ta find what happened ta ev'rybody."

"It's not like I don't want to know what happened to everyone!" England bristles. "I can't-"

"Can't what?" Sean growls, "Search fer yer family?" Waving his hand towards the children, now cowering away from the teenager, Sean growls. "It seems ta me ye have more than enough time ta, if ya can play with _children_." He sneers.

"Don't be mean to Arthur!" One of the lads cries. "He's the best big kid ever! He always plays with us! My big brother won't even do that!" He finishes indignant on England's part.

Ireland's moss green eyes narrow dangerously and he murmurs "Why shouldn' I be mean ta _Arthur_? Do ye even know what he is? What he's done? Do ye know he's a nat-" Without a single thought for his life and safety England rockets at his teenage brother knocking him to the meadow floor with a tackle.

"_Don't _Sean!" He yells.

"What? Lie ta that lad 'bout what we, _ye, _really are?" Ireland snarls, tossing his brother off him with a rough hand.

"Ah!" England gasps, landing awkwardly with his wrist under under him.

"I'm getting my da!" Cassie shouts running towards the little village, the skinny boy from earlier with her.

Sean is up on his feet, glaring at the children and smirking at England. "Need a _human_ ta help ye, do ye?" England doesn't answer breathing hard as he tries not to move his wrist more than necessary. It's broken he knows and it's best he not hurt it any further fighting his brother. Turning away from the children, Sean leans in close to England's face and his breath is hot and threatening against England's skin. Voice only audible to England he mutters. "North's dead, an' it's 'cause ye didn' do enough fer 'im. I held the lad's as he _died_ in my arms, pour lad was covered in burns."

Forest green orbs wide with shock and pain he breathes "No!" Tears glisten as Ireland only stares at him a grim, loathing manner. "No!" England sobs, curling in on himself. England continues to cry, his brother hovering above for only long enough for him to say,

"Burn in hell" and his brother is gone.

"No!" England screeches, before losing himself in a mess of tears and shuddering breaths. A short while later, England registers arms lifting him from the ground murmuring soothing sounds in French. Opening swollen eyes, the blond gazes up from tear muddled eyes and grasp for the golden hair cascading into his face. "France" He whimpers.

"Shh..you are alright _mon lapin_." He coos.

"He's dead, Northern Ireland, he's dead, my brother he's dead!" He howls and no matter how France pets, cradles, or murmurs England can not be comforted.

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**Thanks for reading, _please _review! Any suggestions, ideas or comments would be helpful.  
**

**_Words:_  
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**_Mon Lapin- My Rabbit  
_**


	5. Kindling

_Kindling_

**Characters: Germany, Switzerland and Austria.**

**Warnings: Mentions of characters deaths.**_  
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"_Danke_, this will be a very lucrative trade." Germany smiles, shaking hands with Switzerland. The other blond nods, but his attention shifts away from Germany when a child comes running to the larger blond and collide into his side; arms twining around the muscular man's waist. Germany startles and looks down. His previous pleasant appearance morphs into one of irritation and, maybe, fear.

"I thought I told you to stay with Hans." He grumbles. The boy only trembles, his grip on Germany tightening. Germany's look turns to one of concern. "What's wrong?" He questions, bending down as he detaches the boy and Switzerland gasps. The boy's violet orbs are too familiar are for his liking as is the mole on his chin. Suddenly two men, another blond and a black man are jogging towards them.

"I'm sorry Mr. Ludwig! Max's gun went off and Roderich took off..." The blond explains, his stare shifting nervously between Ludwig and Roderich. Picking the child up, Germany settles him on his hip and turns fully to the two men.

"I see." He murmurs. "Please be more careful, he's sensitive to certain sounds." The muscular blond tells them. The African man manages to appear shameful and meek.

"Sorry, sir, wasn't thinkin'." He apologizes.

Germany sighs. "I suggest you start." He grunts. Both men are quick to disappear as Germany gives his attention back to Switzerland. "I'm sorry." He apologizes. Switzerland gives a dumb nod and points to the child clinging to Germany.

"Is that...?" He inquires, heart pounding at the very thought.

"_Ja_" Germany mumbles. Brushing away brown strands, he murmurs "Say _hallo, _Austria." The child lifts his head and his anxious violet widen at the sight of Switzerland. He flushes and gives a tiny wave before hiding his face once more in the crook of Germany's neck. Germany heaves a deep exhale and gives him an apologetic look, abruptly the look turns hard. "You will leave him alone. He is under the protection of Germany." He growls.

Switzerland puts up placating hands. "I won't." He whispers. Eyes softer, his fingers itch. He wants to touch the child, make the sight of Austria real. "Can I?" He finds himself murmuring. Germany gives a dip of his head and mumbles something into Austria's ear, the child looks up. He takes one step forward and two small arms are reaching around his neck and latching. Surprised, Switzerland scrambles to get a better hold on the child and when he finally looks down at the boy, Austria's violet orbs are gazing up at him.

"Vash" The child hums, eyes glittering with plaintive light.

Brushing back a strand of the boy's hair he utters "You haven't been quite this small in years."

The child sniffs. "Where's...?" He trails off, not voicing his full thought.

Eyes hinting miserably he manages to croak "Gone." The child's lips take the shape of an O and Austria's miniscule arms squeeze him sympathetically.

"Sorry" He breathes, tickling Vash's ear with his warm breath. Vash hugs him back, falling to his knees. "It'll get better." Austria mumbles patting his back. Vash finds he is not in control any longer when a anguished wail erupts from his lips. Unexpectedly Germany is holding both of them, rocking back and forth. Slowly, Switzerland settles and now only the occasional belated hiccups leaves him.

"Sorry, sorry." He whispers, wiping away the wetness from his cheeks.

"It's fine, I understand, Prussia..." Germany says, averting his eyes.

"How many...? How many of us are dead?" Switzerland demands.

"My brother, your sister, a brother of England's Ita-" He stops abruptly, struggling to hold back a wave of emotion. "Italy," he continues quieter "Korea and I have heard rumors that Greenland and Iceland are...but, they are so far only that. I know there must be more, but I am unable to stray far from Germany at the moment."

Switzerland places his hands in his lap. "I could...watch him for you if you want to...I don't know, look." Switzerland offers.

"Thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept at this time. I have promised Austria's caretaker I would stay within a day's reach of Austria." Germany explains.

Switzerland raises a eyebrow in question. "Caretaker?"

Austria lifts his head, eyes alight. "Mhh, _Opa _Bohm's is very nice. He has a piano I can play whenever I like." The small brunette explains.

Forcing a smile Switzerland nods in agreement. "_Ja_, he does sound nice." The little boy's looking away again, his fingers playing with the buttons of his jacket.

"You-" The child stops abruptly, ears turning a soft pink. "You could come by sometimes, I wouldn't mind and _bruder _wouldn't either." He says, stare flickering to Germany who tilts his head in conformation.

Tears filling his eyes, Switzerland brings the boy close; hugging Austria for all he is worth. "I'd like that." He whispers, a warmth he hadn't felt since his sisters death flaring in the deepest crevices of his heart.

* * *

**Thanks for reading, sorry it's so short, next I plan to write about the Italy brothers. _Please, please _review suggestions, ideas, comments, criticism all are welcome.**

_**Words:**_

_**Danke - Thanks you  
**_

_**Bruder - Brother  
**_

_**Opa - Grandpa  
**_

_****__**Hallo - Hello**_

_**Ja - Yes  
**_


	6. Warmth

_Warmth_

**Characters: Romano, Spain, Female!Port****ugal**

* * *

"Lovino!" A woman's scratchy voice rings across the expansive farmland. The said teenager straightens from his hunched position over his ripe, ruby red tomatoes.

"_Che cos'è?_" He calls back, a hand coming to rest on his hip and the other gripping the trowel still stuck in the dirt.

"Lovino!" The woman yells, insistent. Cursing, Lovino throws the trowel to the ground in his fit of anger and begins the trek across the ground to the old woman's cottage. Stomping up to the back door, where the woman stands a large frown on her wrinkled cheeks; she has the the gall to wag a finger at him.

"Lovino I called you ten minutes ago!" She exclaims. Lovino growls, face flushing angrily.

"Yeah, well, you never told me why you needed me." He snaps and the woman gives him one of those _looks_, the ones where she thinks he's acting like a stupid child. "Quit looking at me like that!" He shouts. The woman only sighs and shifts away from the door.

"The tomatoes can wait, I need you to reach the good plates for me. We have guests!" She finishes a happy giggle pealing from her lips. Romano looks down at his feet a bit guilty, the old woman sounds _really_ excited. He knows he's not good company, but...couldn't she at least pretend? Gloomily, he steps into the fairly spacious cottage kitchen. Before he can move over to the high set cupboard a small figure barrels into him, with a high, gleeful cry of "Romano!"

Romano's eyes go wide and he looks down at the messy dark hair at the height of his waist. The old woman frowns. "You know them?" She asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

"No."

"_Si~_" The child and teenager say at the same moment. Romano glances to the woman, his heart thudding dangerously in his chest; her arms are crossed and her eyes, if possible, are full of more question than before.

A skinny arm reaches out wrenching the small body away from his body. "Stop that 'tonio." A young voice warns. Gaze flickering up he sees a girl with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. Something is familiar about her...like he knows her. His line of sight lowers to the other child who smiles widely, eyes almost squinting close; but he can still he see a glimmer of olive green...And the teenager chokes, staggering back. His vision begins to blacken and Lovino's grasping the door's frame trying to calm himself.

"See what you did, _fedelho_?" The girl remarks, giving the boy a shake. Romano hardly notices, though, the old woman is in front of him her cool work-roughened hands upon his cheeks.

"Are you alright _bambino_?" She inquires. Romano nods shaking her hands off.

"Fine" He murmurs. Looking to the pair of children he whispers "Are you-Are you real?"

The girl's features twist to one of irritation. "That's a stupid question."

"Olivia!" The old woman admonishes. Romano ignores them both as he crouches in front of the preteen and child.

He reaches out caressing a lock of hair that has escaped from the girl's bun and the little boy's face. "You-You you're _alive_!" He wails.

"Eww! You're covering me in snot!" Olivia squeals trying to pull away from Lovino and Antonio is whining as he tries to catch a breath from between his sister and Lovino's bodies. The old woman comes over and pulls Lovino away patting his back.

"There, there you're alright." She mumbles, bringing him to her sagging chest. Romano continues to sob for several more minutes, until he pulls away his face flushed a deep red.

"S-Sorry, sorry." He mutters, averting his stare. The old woman smiles.

"It's no trouble _bambino_." She tells him. "But...if you could tell me why you know these children, and why the little one called you _Romano..._I would very much appreciate it." She asks.

Romano flushes even redder, "I-They're-They're cousins and He calls me Romano 'cause he used to mix it up with, um, Lovino...yeah." He answers staring into his lap.

The old woman purses her lips. "I may be old, but I'm not stupid. Tell me the real reason." She orders.

"That is-!" He starts, but Olivia breaks in

"We are the nations of Portugal, Spain and Southern Italy. Romano...where is you're brother?" She asks looking around, her dark eyes taking on an anxious glaze.

"Gone, he's gone...gone with the war." Romano murmured despondent. The woman crosses herself and mutters a quick prayer for the child lost, while Portugal and Spain gasp in the background.

"You said you were nations. You are lying?" The woman repeats, voice doubtful.

"Uh-uh," Portugal frowns. "Don't be fooled by our looks, the war _really_ screwed us over. We used to be be grown my brother and I." She sighs, eyes cast down skimming over her lanky form.

The old woman's eyes are large and wonder-full. "Oh my...I never-"

"Yeah, people aren't really 'posed to know and I'm guessing Romano there was keeping it secret." Olivia smirked. "How long he's been here?" She questions.

"Two years and I never..." The woman stops, face turned thoughtful. "Why are you younger?"

"Destruction of civilization? I dunno." Portugal shrugs, "We're only out this far, 'cause there's famine in our countries. Too dangerous for a little boy, nation or no." She murmurs, brushing a hand through Spain's hair.

The child looks up, the usual cheeriness dampened. "It's dangerous for you too." He states.

The girl gives a wiry smile. "Never said it wasn't." She agrees.

"You can stay here until it's safe." The woman tells them and she hobbles over to the stove and looks into a pot. "The soup is still good. Lovino get the good dishes." She demands.

Romano sputters. "That's all! You aren't even going to ask me if it's okay?" Romano screams.

The woman gives him a tired look. "My _bambino_ you cried for them. I think I know you will want them to stay." Moving away from the stove once more she takes the teenagers face a lays a quick kiss to his forehead. "You are like a _figlio_ to me! _Ti amo_! I do not know what else you want me to do _bambino_!" She huffs. Softly she mutters "Now get me the good dishes, don't make me ask again! Or I'll bring down a spoon on your lazy bones!" She orders.

Romano gaps and the children laugh. Angrily Romano snarls "Shut up!" The pair only giggle more falling into each other trying to stay standing. Suddenly something clicks in Romano's brain. "I'm the boss now! You're going to help me out in the field after our _siesta_!" Romano smirks.

"_Quoi?_ We just got here!" Spain complains and Portugal readily agrees with him.

An almost devilish laugh coming from his lips Romano says "Don't care." And as if they'd always lived with the old woman the child runs to her clinging to her skirt.

"He can't make us! Right _abuelita_?" Spain whines. The old woman freezes for only a hair of a second and then a warm smile rises to her lips.

"Lovino is the man of the house, what he says goes." She answers stirring the soup as Lovino sets the good bowls on the counter beside her. "_Grazie_." She mutters, chancing a quick look at the teenager. He smiles at her and the woman grins conspiratorially back "These lazy children, eh?"

Romano blinks, but then his eyes light up. "Yeah, definitely."

* * *

**Thanks for the reviews last chapter! Especially your idea for this chapter MDWOLFGIRl! Thank you all for reading and please continue to review with any suggestions, ideas, comments or criticism. All of it would be greatly appreciated. If anyone sees any spelling/grammar mistakes please tell me so I may correct them, especially the Italian and Portuguese.  
**

_**Words:**_

_****__Che cos'è_ - What is it  


_**Ti Amo - I Love You  
**_

_**Grazie - Thank You  
**_

_**Bambino - Boy  
**_

_**Figlio - Son  
**_

_**Fedelho - Brat  
**_

_**Siesta - Nap  
**_

_**Si - Yes  
**_

_**Quoi - What  
**_

_**Abuelita - Grandma  
**_


	7. War is Here

_War is Here  
_

**Setting: The beginning of World War III  
**

**Characters: England, France, some little!America and little!Canada and finally passing mention of England's older brothers.  
**

**England's future-sight and need to visually make it is based off Fruk27's Painting a Nightmare. (I suggest you read it, Fruk27's work is _awesome_).**

* * *

"England, how come you won't draw with us?" The tiny, round, impossibly blue eyed child inquires; his plump little finger pointing to the table where his twin sits scribbling away. England is frozen, mouth slack and he cannot speak. His neighbor rises to his feet in a sweeping motion and crouches in front of the boy.

His smile bright and calm he says "_Mon petit_ 'ow would you like it if I come and draw with you instead?"

America is hesitant for a moment, his gaze on England troubled. In the end though, he smiles like the sun and chirps "Yeah! Okay! Thanks Mr. France!" The child then pads back to his to his chair scrabbling up it to see the table's surface; where his half-finished drawing lays. France glances back and they share a knowing look.

**XxXxX**

Sometimes, he dreams things; things that force his hand. From his earliest beginning these dreams have drawn him to blank canvases of whatever is available; dirt, snow, stone, sand and later paper or canvases. His fingers would itch as he grasps for sticks, berries or pens and pencils, though rarely paints. He draws and draws, never truly seeing his work as a whole. When he finishes he shakes and sweats eyes darting from image to image; it frightens him, the things he draws.

These dreams, these drawings, they are to be kept secret. Only a few, those who've know England from almost his very creation know what he draws. He is never to create a work of are they show things; things that are better left unknown.

His brothers taught him to erase these images, with a wave of his foot, water, fire, or however he could. They were not to be seen by mortal eyes, too dangerous they said. And England listened, he listened better than he would ever again because something; just an inkling really told him to. When he was young and small, just a bitty nation away from the continent; England did not know what his work meant. It wasn't until an event played out before him that caused such an overwhelming feeling of _deja vu, _that England understood his work; his dreams.

With time he learned to curb his hand, control it. He didn't, _doesn't_, want to make sense of the dreams ( nightmares really) through his art. He thinks its better left alone and if that means he cannot ever participate in painting, drawing, or even sculpting; well, it's okay. It's a small price to pay to keep the dreams from coming to life. Unfortunately, after years and years and _centuries _upon_ thousands _of years of suppressing his hand's itch; all of his well honed control unravels in one grand roaring night.

**XxXxX**

Trembling, as he continues to cover the blank expanses that are his study walls England does not stop to contemplate. There is a _war _on the horizon and the urge hasn't been this strong since he was a boy. Finally it lets him go and he can _stand. _Rising up on his shaky feet he lets his eyes for the first time in maybe a millennium wander the pictures.

They are gruesome, dark planes dropping missiles and bombs on broken cities, broken buildings, broken people. It doesn't help that most of it's done in red ink, it forces him to see the destruction for what it is; the killing of innocents. England cannot hack it any longer, shaking he leans over his desk; staring down at his red smeared hands. It looks like blood, unable to stop the surge; England pukes into the waste can kept beside his desk. It goes on until he's only left making dry heaves.

"_Mon Cher_" A voice drifts up the stairs and England curses; thumping down beside his desk, panting loudly. France has a nasty habit of coming at the worst possible times. He hears the creak of his stairs as France works his way up the steps, and England's eyes dart around his study; there is nothing short of setting bombing this room that will keep the future a secret. (England cracks a smile at the irony, later; _much_ later).

Sighing, England calls "What the bloody hell are you doing here wanker? Trying to rape me in my sleep?" He questions, keeping up pretenses.

There is a soft, almost tipsy chuckle. "_Non_, Antonio and I were in the area and I need a place to stay for the night~" He says. "And what about you _Angleterre_? Shouldn't you be off dreaming of fairies?" He inquires approaching the study.

England snorts loudly. "You know what I dream of." He tells the older nation.

"Where are you _mon cher_?" France asks, stumbling towards the cracked office door.

"Here." He shouts, making France shove open the study door.

"What-" France begins, but stops gasping audibly at the images gracing the walls. He stares entrapped, unable to look away.

"No stopping it now." England whispers.

"It can always be stopped." France declares fiercely.

"Not this one." England breathes, finger rising to point at a single image among the thousands. France's eyes train on it, it's a sleek black plane over London and from it is falling a bomb. A plane overhead thrums and without _adieu, _a whistle fills the air. A flash of blinding light follows and the windows implode; glass spraying Frances as he collapses to the floor.

_War is here. _England thinks as the shadows of unconsciousness seep into his sight.

* * *

**So _please_ review, ideas, criticism, comments, suggestions would be useful. I really hope you all like this chapter and thank you everyone for reading.**

**_Words:_  
**

**_Non - No  
_**

**_Mon Petit- My Little One  
_**

**__****_Angleterre - England_**

**_Mon Cher - My Dear  
_**


	8. Someone Told Me Not to Cry

_Someone Told Me Not to Cry_

__**Setting: End WWIII, Post-WWIII  
**

**Characters: China and Korea**

* * *

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't want this!" He sobs, begging for someone, _anyone_, to understand. By this point he is too weak, his forces are finally beginning to lose and the Freedom Powers are enacting their final strike. The door to his room slides open, and an aged man steps in. He comes and kneels down beside the other man lying curled on the futon. With his good hand he takes the man's hand.

"Shh..don't cry big brother." He soothes. Though, it is ridicules to be calling this man, younger than him, big brother. But, he knows the truth; this young man is ancient, one of the oldest, if not _the _oldest nation alive. He may be appearance wise the elder, but not by years.

Big brown eyes switching to him, the younger man screams "Why not? We are about to die and it's all my fault!"

He gives his brother a serene smile. "Hush, Yao. You are not going to die, only me." He tells him, but his voice is not bitter or angry; it's accepting. He knows he is to die, he is smaller, less powerful than his elder nation and Yao's too big, too strong, too _old_ and _stubborn_ to just die. Tears are sliding down his brother's face now.

"Sorry, so sorry!" He cries, one of his smaller hands coming to curl around his unshaven cheek. "Look at you, I've aged you with this war and now you will die because of me! Hate me! Please!" He begs. Placing his bandaged hand over the one on his cheek, he does his best to hide the pain it causes and smiles wider if possible.

"I knew what I was getting into brother, when I joined the Chinese Empire." He tells him patiently. This only seems to upset the younger man even more and he insists his lips not to falter their grin.

"Then! Why!" He wails.

"Either way I would have died, a casualty to either side." He explains, voice soft and loving. "But, I wanted, still want, to be with you at the very end. I want to die by your side big brother." He finishes, squeezing his brother's hand in emphasis. Yao's crying now, his face is hot and messy with tears. The bombs are dropping outside now and he can feel his insides being pulled and twisted, Yao gives an alarmed shout, letting him know he's bleeding through his clothes.

Gritting his teeth in a defiant smile, he whispers "Don't cry Yao, your tears are not the last thing I want to see." He murmurs, "_Please,_ brother." He coughs. Yao's tears stop, his flushed cheeks pale and he wipes away the remainder of his tears. He clutches at his heart as it gives a painful pang. Yao grabs a him and lowers him down across his lap. He looks up, with hazy eyes and smiles a bloody, dieing smile. "That's more like it!" He exclaims. "I don't suppose you could smile for me could you?" He inquires. His eyes are slipping closed now, as crimson liquid begins to trail out of his mouth. Yao smiles, it's very small and trembling, but he's cheered by it anyway. "Th-This isn't-t" He's stops abruptly as loud wet coughs coarse through him. Pressing himself to finish his final words he suppresses the hacks drowning himself in blood. "Ssso bad-d, d-dieing." He mutters and then everything begins to fade, eventually everything goes white as his brother's pearls of teeth in his little, _little_ smile.

Yao ululates his grief in one final burst as the world he knew collapse around him.

**XxXxX**

When he wakes for the first time, he's greeted by all encompassing darkness. Sighing, he drifts off back into mind numbing slumber. The next time he awakes, shards of cement and dust fall on his face and a small light blinds him. Closing his eyes he goes back to sleep. The third time it's a shout that brings him back to the living.

"Zhang! Get your ass over here! There's a kid and I think he's alive!"

Soon, arms are pulling him out of the rubble and away from where his brother's body is still laying. "No!" He screams. The strong arms don't let him go, they tighten and Yao screams even louder.

"Shh, we got you kid." The voice belonging to the arms mutters and his companions are back in the hole from where Yao was pulled.

"Shit! There's a body in there!" One of the yelps backing out of the hole. It will be later that Yao learns he's one of the first and few to be rescued following the aftermath of the last war.

"Who was in there with you kid?" The person who holds him questions.

Yao, in something akin to shock mumbles "My brother."

"Aw, shit, I'm sorry kid." He whispers, hugging him almost.

Tears glazing his eyes, but not falling he murmurs back, "It's okay, he told me not to cry." Yao untangles himself from the man and pads over to the hole where a couple of men are trying to hoist the stiff resisting body from the mess of cement and metal. "Let me help." He whispers, grasping onto a torn sleeve of his brother's uniform with a small, white hand. With the men, Yao drags out the body and finally they are lying him out on the ground.

"I'm sorry, but we're going to have to take his body to where the rest are." One of the men apologizes, he leans down and undoes a pin from his brother's lapel and presses it into Yao's hand. "Here, keep that with you. It's your brothers." He tells him and the pair who pulled his brother's body out of the destruction lift him and begin to carry it to a pile of other bodies only a short distance away.

The man who held him stares down at him awkwardly. "Do you have any where to go?"

Yao shrugs. "I'll figure something out." He answers. The man nods.

"Okay, just, don't go too far and I could take you home with me for the night or something." He tells him.

Yao gives an agreeable dip of his head. "Yes sir." He replies and the man wanders away, back to his work. Finally daring to gaze down at the pin, he's met by the sight of his flag, and Korea's flag meshing together into one. With shaky fingers he applies it to his too big shirt and whispers "You'll be with me forever, brother."

* * *

**Review, criticism, comments, ideas and suggestion would be nice. Thank you for reading.  
**


	9. If It's Too Much to Ask

_If It's too Much Too Ask  
_

**Characters: Hungary, OC.  
**

**Setting: Post-WWIII.  
**

* * *

She's been tailing the man for several days now; he's young, but shows a lively cleverness so many seem to lack now. She knows he knows, but he has yet to shoo her away or shake her off. Hungary takes this as a good sign and hopes he will except her proposition when she offers it to him. For now though, she simply needs to make sure nothing gets in the way of her plan.

He eyes the war urchin following him, the kid, a boy he thinks; is dirty and wearing clumsily mended clothing. The child's eyes though, display a alertness that so many other children simply don't have any more. This one is _alive_ and he knows has some sort of plan involving him, but what? He can only guess. It's time, he believes to figure out what all this shadowing is about. He steps away from the main street and into the crumbles of a building, half-hoping that the boy will still be trailing him.

Hungary almost decides to scatter when the man steps into the secluded building, it's odd behavior and she'd much rather confront him in the open. Hesitant she steps into the building, eyes darting around the darkened room for the young man. A stone careens towards her and she gasps stepping back and the young man steps out into the faint light.

"_Hallo_" He greets, bending down to the preteen's height. The boy's blue eyes are wide and his brown hair falling messily around his face. Something inside him pangs; maybe it's the shape of his eyes or the way his hair glints in the faint light, but the child reminds him of the baby daughter he lost. "What's your name _junge_?" The child blinks and his mouth opens and closes, finally he flushes and blurts,

"Hungary."

He chuckles, leering at the boy slightly. "I know Hungary's in shambles, _junge; _but I still know it exists." He tells him.

Hungary flushes even more, how stupid is she? Just to say her name like that? What is she a _child_? And she feels her face burn even more, because she _is_ one. Rolling her tongue over teeth she eventually mutters "Rory, I'm Rory." Because he thinks she is a boy and she'd hate to disappoint.

He smiles at this, in a dopey sort of way. Like she'd just accepted his invitation to dance, she bites her lip and keeps this to herself. "Cool, I'll believe you. I'm Aleo, nice to meet you." He answers.

Thrusting her hand forward she says "Nice to meet you too." Aleo laughs and takes her hand shaking it. A grin still present on his face and gray eyes mischievous, he leans in close.

"So _junge _what are you tailing me for?" He inquires with a small smirk.

Hungary looks away and shrugs. "I don't know." The man grabs her chin.

"No lying." He tells her, eyes fierce.

Taking a deep breath Hungary whispers "I want to travel with you."

Aleo stands back up and stares down at her. "Why?"

Hungary gives him a strange look. "I've been tailing you for almost a week, shouldn't that be enough?" She asks, irritation bleeding into her voice.

He glances away at this. "You tell me." Hungary sighs in exasperation.

Placing her hands on her narrow hips, Hungary huffs " You want to know why?" She questions. "You're smart, you're alive and not just physically, I can see you're already plotting and I want to be apart of it." She says to him, squinting her eyes into a glare.

Aleo is totally surprised by the child's answer. He has to give it too Rory, he's savvy and observant. Must be a genius he thinks. It's all just a tad odd, but the kid's being honest; Aleo notes. So with a shake of his head he gives a burst of laughter and reaches out ruffling the kid's shaggy hair. "Okay, okay we can be partners. How's that sound kiddo?" He inquires. Though, displeased by the messing of his hair Rory smiles up at him; eyes glittering with hope.

Offering the kid a hand, even though he's probably too old for it; Aleo says "There's a truck 'cross town I wanna check out. If it's any good, it'll be our ticket out of here."

Without any hesitation Hungary latches onto the given hand and grins up at him. "Where will we go?"

The man spreads his free arm in a sweeping gesture. "Everywhere. Anywhere." He answers. Hungary squeezes Aleo's hand in excitement because anything to come can only get better.

**XxXxX**

"Ugh" Rory grumbles, dragging practiced fingers through the tangles in his hair. Older, but still lively Aleo chuckles.

"You should just cut it short, people would also know your a boy then." He tells Rory, grinning.

Rory tenses, his eyes becoming guarded. "I like it long." He defends. Aleo shakes his head and throws his arms up in the air.

"Fine!" He exclaims, a fond smile working it's way onto his lips. "Whenever you decide to cut it, come to me. Good ol' Aleo will fix it for you."

Hungary's eyes hint in a smile. "You aren't that old." She says. Aleo wags a finger at the boy.

"Maybe not to _you, _Mr. Nation. But, to us regular people I'm ancient." He snickers.

Hungary frowns at this. "You act like your planning to kick the bucket any day now." She whispers.

Aleo shrugs and lays down in the bed of his truck. "My times coming to an end." He answers. Hungary scrabbles down beside him, he's not much older than when he first met him. Resting on his stomach, the adolescent begins to trace the ridges of the truck's bed.

"I know." He whispers. Aleo reaches over and pats his back.

"Don't be too upset over me now, I've been waiting a very long time to meet up with my little girl." He murmurs.

Hungary lifts her head in surprise. "You had a daughter?" She questions.

Aleo laughs and nods. He's been hiding this too long, it's time he told someone. "Yes, she was the prettiest thing. Biggest blue eyes you ever did see, and the cutest smile." He mutters, eyes vacant. "She wasn't even two when the war started. My girl and I lived in Budapest, when London was bombed we hauled the hell outta there. Found ourselves a nice little town and we thought we'd be safe there, you know? But then...things like medicine and food, doctors, nurses they all became scarce. All of it going to the war and wouldn't you know it? Are daughter caught a the measles, from where? I can't even tell you, god knows we weren't sending her to daycare then. But she did and our little girl wasn't getting better. No doctors, nurses or medicine. All we could do was keep her comfortable and hope she made it. Two weeks after she came down with it, she was gone. My little girl she was gone! I couldn't believe it and my girl didn't want to stick around any longer. It was all too painful, we split. Wouldn't you know it though? The day the war ended I headed out to Budapest, for what? I don't even remember anymore. While I was there, this kid he began to trail me and then...well you know, don't you? _Mein sohn._" He finishes smiling softly at the boy beside him.

"I'm sorry." He murmurs, tears filling the clear blue. Aleo brings her to his side and hugs him.

"It's okay kid, it was years and _years _ago. A daughter was just one of those thing that are too much to ask for, like peace." He mutters under his breath.

"_Nein! _A daughter, medicine, doctors...peace and happiness are never too much to ask for!" Hungary shouts. Standing up the nation clenches her hands into fists and says "You should have been given all of those things. But, somebody, a god-awful jerk-ass took that all away! And it's not fair! You, my people, all of you should have been given peace and happiness, but _nein_! I can't even do that for anyone!" She screams falling to the bed of the truck with a loud sob.

Aleo gathers the child into his arms and begins to rock her. "Shush, you gave me a _sohn_. It's more than I could have ever asked for after my daughter's death. You now what else? I know that you've been trying and you've been giving everything you have to make your people happy. I know you have." He whispers.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She hiccups pulling away. "I'm acting stupid." Hungary mutters.

Aleo squeezes the kid's shoulder. "Never, you're just upset. Lay down and get some sleep. In the morning we can head over to the nearest town and scrounge up some breakfast." He tells her. Hungary nods and sniffs, scrubbing away the remnants of her tears. With a sigh, Aleo lays back and lets Rory bed down next to his side. If he were to die tonight, he'd die happy. Knowing someone other than him will remember his daughter and that he isn't alone. Closing his eyes he drifts off into calming, everlasting darkness.

It's when birds begin to chirp that Hungary wakes. Wiping away the bleariness from her eyes. She lifts a hand and places it on Aleo's chest. Immediately she pulls it away, he's cold to the touch and she doesn't feel a heart beat. "_Nein_." She whimpers. "You-You can't, not now! I didn't even get to tell you! You don't know that a daughter wasn't too much to ask for! _Nein_! It's not fair!" She weeps, tears bitter and inconsolable.

It's hours before she can bring herself to crawl through the back window and pull out the keys from the pocket on the side of the door. Placing it in the ignition she drives herself and Aleo's body to the nearest town. He needs to buried and Hungary knows she can't do it on her own. All that she can hope for now is that Aleo is at peace and with his true daughter.

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**Review. Thanks for reading.**

_**Words:**_

_**Hallo - Hello  
**_

_**Nein - No  
**_

_**(Mein) Sohn - (My) Son  
**_

_**Junge - Boy  
**_


	10. I Long for the Moment our Silence is Bro

_I Long for the Moment our Silence is Broken  
_

**Characters: Iceland, OCs.  
**

**Setting: Post-WWIII.**

* * *

He's stuck here, no way to contact anyone and no way to know if it's all over. His people have been nearly obliterated and the few remaining aren't willing to risk seeking out information. Iceland's too small now, he couldn't take a boat out into the ocean if he wanted to. He's very young, not even five and his people won't let him out of their sight; not after he almost drowned in the ocean.

Iceland knows they mean well, but he misses being a part of the world; (he wouldn't have even imagined he'd miss the world, until the near annihilation of his nation, that is). So instead he settles for sitting at the ocean's edge, a pair of binoculars and his ever faithful Puffin at his side. He knows Greenland's gone, it's the only place his people were willing to explore. It doesn't stop him from hoping that someday, Norway, Denmark, Sweden or Finland will come looking for him.

With a tired sigh, he flops back against the sand. Lolling his head to his Puffin he murmurs "Do you think you could fly all the way to Norway?" The Puffin only blinks at him. Iceland sighs hugging his binoculars to his chest. "Don't you miss him? You used to talk to him, you know." He says to Mr. Puffin.

The Puffin's head turns to him and Iceland holds his breath, thinking _maybe_ he'll actually speak. But, then the creature lifts a wing and ruffles it with his beak. "Aggh!" He snarls making a threatening grab at the animal. It hops some before flapping away to a farther distance and Mr. Puffin gives him an irritated look, before turning away completely.

"Fine!" He screams at Mr. Puffin. Lip trembling, he picks up his binoculars and dusts off the bit of sand clinging to them and looks out into the ocean once more. He stays like this for hours; even when his stomach begins to gnaw at him, when his fingers become stiff, when his back pulses with a sharp stabbing pain and when his eyes become dry and squinted. He doesn't turn when feet scuffle behind him, but then a hand pulls the binoculars from his stiff fingers and all he can do is make a feeble grab for them.

"It's time to come in _Ís_." The person above murmurs.

"No, I'm not done." He growls. The person sighs, and there is a soft shuffle before arms loop under his arm pits pulling him off the ground. "No!" He shouts.

"Stop this now _Ís, mamma_ and _pabbi _won't be happy when they hear how you're behaving." The voice huffs and Iceland's head swings around to see the square face of his boss's daughter.

"I don't care!" He screams. "I'm not some baby that you can bend to your wills!" He yells struggling against the girl's grip. She exhales again and brings him close to her, holding Iceland like he'd seen her hold her younger brothers when they're upset. This only further infuriates Iceland and he thrashes, lashing out his mitten hands in hopes striking her.

"Ah!" She yelps, one of his small fists landing a blow on her chin. Her finger's grasps grow rigid and she hisses "That's enough _Ís_." Iceland ignores her and begins to scream and curse at her in all the languages he knows, he's angry, he's confused, he's sad, he's hurt. It's been five years from yesterday since they last had contact with the outside world, but _nobody _had come to Iceland. _Why hadn't anyone come for him_?

"Why!" He shrieks, squirming and tears are leaking out of his eyes now. Instinctively he turns into his boss's daughter's warmth and begins to sob. "Why haven't they come? Why haven't they Kara?"

Kara frowns down at Iceland's white head and hugs him close. "Maybe they're scared." She whispers.

"Of what?" He hiccups. Brushing his hair, Kara gazes out into the vast ocean. She doesn't know why the world's given up on them or why China hasn't comeback, (she hopes it means that they've been defeated) but she knows if Iceland's family knew he was here and well they would come to him.

"Maybe...maybe they think they'll find out you're dead, so they haven't come out here because they're trying to prolong what they believe is waiting for them." She tells him, turning around she begins the trek home. "Now, eventually they _will_ come and you know what? They'll get the _biggest_ and _best _surprise _ever_ because you're _alive_!" She exclaims.

Iceland hiccups. "Really?" He mumbles. Kara's head bounces affirming her previous statement. Taking one last shuddering breath, Iceland grabs onto Kara's blond braid and lays his head on her shoulder. Eyes drifting close he smiles, hope anew.

**XxXxX**

Passing the beach on the way to the Council's Building, Iceland glances out to the vast sea and catches sight of something moving. Squinting, he lifts a hand above his eyes staring out into the ocean. It looks like...boats. Boats! Dropping the stick he'd been pulling along in the dirt he runs back to his old boss's home. Running up to the weathered door he tugs it open and runs into the kitchen shouting "Kara! Kara!" An aged woman turns to him, her blond braid streaked with gray.

"What is it _Ís_? I thought you were going to see Per?"

Iceland grins. "I saw boats! They're coming this way!" He cries, waving his arms in exuberance. Kara gapes, violet eyes wide.

"What? Oh! You foolish boy! Hurry! Go to Per, he needs to know!" She shouts at him shooing him to the door with a wooden ladle.

"Aw! Why can't you?" Iceland whines.

The woman smirks. "Some of us age a bit more than you do in forty years my dear." She explains. "Now hurry!" She says, giving him a light nudge out the door. A bright laugh leaving him, Iceland begins to run.

"Yeah okay! See ya Kara!" He shouts behind him running for the Council Building. Racing through the revolving door, he yells "Hi Britta! Gotta see Per, it's an emergency!"

The pudgy woman stands up "_Ís!_" She calls. "He's in a meeting!"

"Alright! Thanks Britt!" He yells back running down the hall to the last door. Turning the chipped glass knob, he jerks the door open and screams "Boats! I saw Boats!"

The few men huddled around Per's desk look to Iceland. "Really?" One of them asks. Iceland bobs his head up and down, shifting from one anxious foot to the other. Opening a drawer and placing a set of papers in it, Per gazes over the desk at Iceland.

"Well, why don't you lead us there _Ís_?" He suggests. Smiling, Iceland dashes down the hall.

"Follow me!" He roars, excitement uncontainable.

**XxXxX**

When the group reaches the ocean edge, Iceland points out at the small cluster. "See?" He demands. The men only stare, but this satisfies Iceland all the same. Grinning he says "Only a bit longer." The boats are several hundred yards away, but all Iceland can think is _finally!_

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**Thank you for the reviews so far and now review again, (I'd be super happy if I could get more than one) thanks for reading.  
**

**Words:  
**

**_Ís_ - Ice  
**

**Pabbi - Dad  
**

**Mamma - Mom  
**


	11. The Lights Fade in The West

_The Lights Faded in The West_

**Characters: America, mentions of Canada, France and England.**

**Setting: After WWIII.  
**

* * *

Amongst the cracked crumbled, and decimated sections of concrete and the twisted scorched metal sky blue eyes popped open. The body's, belonging to the eyes, limbs are lethargic in their movements as it's mind comes back to itself. After a short while the body sits up and it's blue eyes widen as it gaze travels the the destroyed expanses.

"Where...?" The body speaks, his voice is coarse and on the verge of turning thick with howling cries. Suddenly, he spots the tattered remains of red and white stripes fluttering in a mild zephyr. "Home." He whispers bringing a hand to his mouth. He folds over sobbing in happiness, terror and confusion. His home, the land of the free, is decimated.

He doesn't know how he got here, all he remembers before opening his eyes to home is the world's (Most of it) last effort to obliterate the enemy. Him in his plane, his allies in their own dropping bombs on the enemy's nation; before diving in at the capital city. It was a suicidal choice, but it hadn't mattered; all that did was that the world go on without having to fear this terrible nation's wrath.

Scrambling to his feet, the boy feels how his uniform hangs on his frame; it's not right. Glancing down he sees lithe muscle, not yet to its full potential. "How...? Jogging away from the rumble and climbing over pieces too big to jump he finds a shard of glass. Staring into it, his own round face and wide blue eyes reflect back. Scuttling back, he gasps. He's younger; not a whole bunch, but enough that he can't pass off as an adult.

Shivering, he looks for signs of human life. He doesn't like this, it feels wrong. Everything does. "Hey!" He bellows, his voice vibrate and bounces off the destruction. "Hey! Hey anybody out there! Heeey!" He screams. No one answers. This goes on for hours, he yells and shouts and jogs through the crumbling city that never seems to end. The day is overtaken by the night and eventually he has to find a place to settle for the night.

Crawling under a piece of cement jutting out of a pile he sighs, and pulls his collar up. It's cooler now and he's certain storm clouds are coming in. "Not scared. 'm not scared." He mumbles, trying to convince himself that the destroyed landscape is not eerie or in anyway like a graveyard. And there_ definitely _aren't any ghosts 'cause they aren't real. Exhaling, he buries his face into his arms and tries to sleep.

His dreams are plagued with images of his brother, Canada trembling with a cough caused by the fires that pillage his nation, of England pale and ravaged laid out in a bed unable to do more than scream in his sleep and France standing alone face grim eyes dark with violence not released. It causes him to quake in moan in his sleep, the sound carries in the wind; tunneling it through the demolished city. It catches the attention of a small band of Americans traveling through the area, and they vow to looks for the source in the morning.

The scuffs of boots and the murmur of voices is what wakes his in the morning. Blinking against the unwelcome sun, he wipes away the crud from his eyes and looks up to see the shapes of people hovering above him. "Huh?" He grumbles eyes scrunching.

"Hey, kid where'd you come from?" The person asks.

"What?" He mutters. The person sighs and offers him a hand. Without any thought, he takes it letting the person tug him up. He hisses and brings an arm to shield his eyes. The person chuckles.

"What's your name?" They ask.

Stubborn as ever, he demands "You first." The people behind this person hoot and laugh.

The person gives a sharp, strained smile and tells him "Nick Mann." And then sticking a thumb to the people behind he says "That's Parker Markstein, Joe Lidd and Ally Bone." Nodding his head in greeting to the others, he holds out his hand.

"Sup, I'm Alfred Jones." Nick takes the offered hand and shakes it. His grin now wicked, Nick pulls away.

"So, what'cha doin' out here? In an uniform no less?" He questions.

Alfred shrugs, no real answer coming to mind. "Dunno, just woke up here." Ally snorts and Parker rolls his eyes, but no one tries to pry any further. Alfred finds himself grateful for this.

"Think we should take him to the boss-man?" Joe pipes up. Nick makes an agreeing hum.

"Yeah, hey kid come with us, will ya? We're 'pposed to searching the ruins for people like you. We got a safe, er, _safer_, zone we set up a while back for people to stay." Nick demands of him. Alfred wriggles in his spot not looking at any of them. He's not sure he wants to do that, but he doesn't think they'll just leave him alone if he asks either.

So sighing, he grunts "Yeah, why not?"

Joe smirks. "Good, ya know...to have found that uniform you gotta be a pretty good scavenger. We'll see if we can't convince boss to give you a pass for outside of the safety perimeter. We could always use another guy or two." He says to Alfred. The teenagers lips curve up, it seems like a pretty good offer to him.

"Yeah sure, why not?" He agrees, following after the group as they begin the way back to the safe zone. Alfred's bright eyes survey the destruction around him, it seems the glory that was America has faded. Frowning, Alfred turns his gaze to the cracked and chipped pavement at his feet. It's humiliating; the world's eyes will never rest on America again, he can feel it in the pores of his bones.

* * *

**Two chapters tonight! Review (More than one would be awesome please). Thank you for reading.**


	12. I Will Not Bow, I will Not Break

_I Will Not Bow, I Will Not Break_

**Characte****rs: OC Nation, OCs.  
**

**Setting: Post-WIII.**

* * *

Winnota was born from the resistance. The resistance started small, a group formed between the old states of Wisconsin and Minnesota; where there was still some wilderness left to hide in. They were sick of the war, sick of being beaten, tired of the government who kept coming out on the losing end. All they cared about was protecting themselves and their freedom. They built themselves a compound and scavenged for weapons and supplies, slowly the compound grew; by the time the war was over they were a small town.

Now, it was a nation in its own right: covering most of what was upper Minnesota, the edge of Northern Wisconsin and in recent years had taken over some of Canada and the shore land of old Michigan. Winnota's growth is due to the preparedness of the resisters, after the war they'd been quick to help and offer shelter to those who needed it. As more people came to Winnota it began to expand until it took the the land surround Lake Superior, Winnota was it's own country.

The ideology of the resistance group remained, be prepared, be ready to fight and die for freedom, don't trust anyone but those of The Winnota Resistance. Winnota was in no way hostile; they were always open to those seeking safety and help, but they had been resistant to America's feeble attempts to reclaim the nation as theirs. Someday, the Winnotains knew a real war would happen, but they would be ready.

This was her story and she knew it by heart. This was how Winnota came to be, this is why she was alive today. Staring at her reflection, she worries over the possibility of her recent growth spurt having made her look gawky. Her boss keeps telling her she is as beautiful as always, with her long black hair and deep set brown eyes and smattering of freckles. But, she frets that her arms and legs appear too long, that the small clef in her chin has become deeper, that her once speedy movements have become clumsy and slow.

"Winnie!" Angie yells, opening her bedroom door with a rattling force. A hand on one hip, the middle aged woman sighed. "Winnie, you were supposed to have left ten minutes ago. You know Juan wanted you opinion on sending a team out to scout for supplies." Tugging on a slightly too small sweater, Winnie swung around to glare at Angie, Juan's wife.

"He never wanted _my _opinion ten years ago!" She huffs.

The woman sighs. "You were a little girl then. You're getting older, it's necessary you know how your country works." She explains. Winnota grumbles under her breath, brushing her hair back into a ponytail. Once finished, she tugs on her work boots and passes Angie.

"I'm going." She grunts. Angie nods at this and then wags a finger of warning at her.

_ "_Run." She tells the girl. Winnota laughs.

"Yeah right." She says and walks out the backdoor. Shoving her hands into her jean's pockets she mutters "Winter's comin'" to herself. Heading to the Capital, she begins to whistle a tune. Somewhere in the distance, shots fire and Winnota's breath hitches. She reaches for the pistol kept in the waist band of her jeans and approaches the sound of firing guns. Crouched behind a group of bushes she dares to peer over the edge. Several men in foreign uniforms, are searching the bodies of the men who had been guarding the town's gate. Winnota gasps, a hand coming to her mouth as one of the turns and she catches sight of a familiar patch on one of the men. It's the American flag. Angry, she pulls her pistol up and aims it at one of the men, she can't believe them, who are they to invade her home and kill her people? She realizes now, that everything she'd ever been told about the Americans is the truth. They are a power and resource grubby nation and will harm anyone to get what they want. They aren't any better than the Chinese, who had been the enemy in the last war.

"Die bastard." She hisses, pulling the trigger. The man screams when the bullet lodges itself in his shoulder; one of his companions makes a move for the injured soldier, but Winnota doesn't allow it and fires another shot hitting this man square in the chest. He cries out clutching his soiling shirt. Several more uniformed men jog to the dead and injured soldier and Winnota begins to back away from her hiding place. She needs to tell her boss. As she runs away from the bushes, several shots fire after. Winnota grins, it seems she still speedy as ever.

Running for the capital, she vaults herself over the fence surrounding it and leaps through the door. Once inside she screams "Americans are invading! Americans are invading!"

This sets off a chain reaction of events that leads to the men and a few women suiting up and the rounding of up children, the rest of the women and elderly to the capital where they would be kept safe. She stands on the capital's steps with her boss and his wife, Angie is crying.

"Don't go, Juan, I can't bare the thought of losing you!" She sobs. Juan pats her shoulder and leans in for a quick kiss, while juggling the semi-automatic in the crook of his arm.

"I have to Angie, what example would I set for our nation if I did not fight with our brave soldiers?" He whispers to her. Snuffling, Angie hugs him and moans.

"I will lose my husband." She says.

"You don't know that." Juan abominates.

Her eyes fierce and fingers trembling. Angie growls "They are cruel. They are vicious. I have lost a son to them and I do not doubt I will lose you too." She whimpers. Winnota bites her lip, the mentions of the Perezs's son are minimal and far apart. Reaching out she clutches Angie's hand, staring up at her boss she pulls the pistol out.

"I will protect her." She tells her boss. The man's eyes shine, and he leans down a soft smile on his lips.

"If I ever had a daughter I would wish for her to be like you." Juan whispers. Angie makes a scoffing noise and glares at her husband.

"What are you talking about? She is our daughter, a daughter of our heart." Angie scowls, clutching Winnota's hand tightly. Juan's eyes are distant.

"She is isn't she?" He murmurs, astounded. "If I don't come back, make sure your mother takes care of herself." Her father asks of Winnota.

Tears pooling in her eyes Winnota asks "Why do we have to go to war? Haven't we all had enough?"

Her father shakes his head. "The world never tires of war." She is left without anything else to say.

He leaves with the town's militia, ready to fight and die protecting their town until the neighboring militias can arrive. Winnota swallows the thick bile back and vows to be strong for her people. She, _they_, need to know that they can win their freedom.

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**So, OC Nation, was she believable? I do hope everyone realizes they will pop up from time to time, there would be a few new nations after a World War after all. Review, comments, ideas, suggestions and criticism are all welcome. Thanks for reading everyone.**


	13. Do You Want to Burn it with Me?

_Let's Watch it Burn  
_

**Characters: Hungary, Austria and Germany.**

**Setting: Post-WWIII**

* * *

The clack of their marching feet is rhythmic and much too loud she thinks as they approach the village it will be their first, but not their last. The people of the village hardly stir, going about their regular business. She wonders if they realize they are hostile and what is going to happen because of this. Her stomach swirls disagreeably for these innocent people, how foolish they are.

Her people, they feel slighted, bitter, angry and multitude more of negative feelings. She doesn't want to do this, but she is Hungary; so she must. It's a medium sized hamlet they find as they come closer, with adults and children alike. Hungary grips the pistol tighter she wants to tell them to stop, but her mouth is resistant as are her feet that march along with the others. They are only a few meters from the populated area and a child, a familiar little boy (his violet eyes make her heart pound), runs down a half-paved street.

She knows he knows what is going to happen next (it's impossible not to), their methods may not be as strong or precise, but they will be destructive none the less. When they come to the village edge a shot fires (later she will be adamant that it was _them,_ not her people), She knows the schismatics of why this must happen. Germany favors what was Austria and Switzerland too, he offers negligible aid to other struggling nations. Her people need help too, but Germany only helps Austria and Switzerland. This thought ignites a rage in her that she hopes will not fail her as she and her people carry out this task.

Reminiscent of days passed, once her people finish terrorizing the people of the hamlet they light several torches and toss them into the buildings. Her people cheer as the village is consumed by the flames as men, when women and children run from the hamlet crying and screaming. She cheers along for a while; while her superiors eyes are on her, but the moment their gazes turn she is gone. She is Hungary, but she is also her own person.

Hungary walks around the field of tall grass surrounding hamlet, eyes scanning for one figure. Eventually the sound of whimpers and wails brings her to a boy covered in burns and blood. As she kneels beside him his violet eyes build with tears and he aggravates his injuries in a lousy attempt to get away, he's defenseless and it causes her stomach to lurch. She holds out both her hands, palms open. Bending over him she stares into his violet orbs, there's fear (he fears _her_). "Who can I take you to?" She whispers. His eyes become overwhelmed with confusion. "Germany?" She prompts. The boy nods and then whimpers. Assenting with a grunt, she reaches underneath him and with great care she lifts the smaller child. He's not much smaller than her, she is on the cusp of womanhood where he is possibly eight or nine, but Hungary has no trouble lifting him. Staggering to her feet, she begins to walk.

**XxXxX**

It's only several hours later that she comes upon Germany, he is with a small platoon of his own people heading in the direction of the ruined hamlet. She hesitates, eying him she wonders if he will hurt her. After a moment her gaze flickers to Austria who sighs in his sleep (injury induced, no doubt). No, he won't, not when she has Austria. Taking the necessary steps, she advances. Hungary stops a couple of inches from Germany, his glacial blue eyes glare at her in accusation. Holding out Austria in way of offering, she whispers "You should watch your allies better Germany."

He does not take Austria, instead he stares at her in a quiet knowing way. "It was your people." He states. Hungary looks away and doesn't answer, Germany doesn't need her too.

"Are you going to take him or what?" She questions, she bites the inside of her cheek at the hostile edge to her voice. Germany pauses, then almost shyly does take Austria from her. The child's violet eyes flutter, a smile tugs at his chapped lips.

A small hand reaches up and pets Germany's gaunt face. "_Bruder._" He utters. Hungary raises an eyebrow; Germany doesn't see it, his eyes rest on Austria who has fallen into unconsciousness once again. One of Germany's glove clad thumbs comes to rub away a smudge of black from the child's cheek.

"What did your people do?" He demands. Hungary shrugs, she wants to leave. But, she doesn't doubt Germany will shoot her or capture if she does so before he allows her to. "Nothing to catastrophic." She answers.

He lifts his gaze to her. "You brought him to me, why?" He asks, he is wary of her reply she notes.

Feeling a bit hurt, Hungary looks away and then settles her gaze on Austria. "We are nations, our peoples' wills always come before our own." She explains. "But, that doesn't mean I wish the same." She mutters.

Surprisingly, Germany's eyes soften. "Thank you for bringing him to me." He tells Hungary. His eyes turn hard again. "I will let you go this time. Next time...I expect you to be ready to fight if your people continue these endeavors." He says. Hungary nods her thanks, shuffling back some. Turning on her heels she runs. It's best she starts running now, things are already falling into place; there is no stopping what her people will do next.

* * *

**Thank you for reading, please_ review_. Comments, suggestions, criticism and ideas are all welcome.**

**_Words:_  
**

**_Bruder: Brother.  
_**


	14. Britannia Rules The Waves

_Britannia Rules The Waves  
_

**Characters: England and Spain.**_  
_

**Setting: Post-WWIII**

* * *

Slicing through dark blue waters, a man shouts "Boat ahead!" from its crows nest. Another man steps out onto the deck, he pulls a collapsible telescope from his jacket. Peering across the expanse of water he smirks, an Italian flag; it's been a while since he last saw one of _those _in his waters. Reverting his telescope to its compressed state with a snap he shoves it back into his coat. "Approach!" He screams, the ship swerves left and speeds towards the unsuspecting ship.

When they are within several yards, he opens his mouth. "Fire!" England shouts to his men, the cracks of multiple guns fills the air as they speed towards the damaged boat. A wolfish grin splitting across his face England laughs. "Be ready men!" He yells to his crew. The boat they are about to pillage has a white flag (it's about ready to fly away, obviously tied onto the rope and raised with a matter of moments, with in moments of seeing them he smirks). It's fluttering on its mast, but England learned long ago that flags could be deceiving. Coming along side the boat, England shoots at a couple of men readying their own guns and effectively takes them out; spilling crimson red on the deck.

"For England!" He cries and his men meet his rally with cheers and roars as they charge the boat. Hopping onto the deck England walks along looking for any injured crew. It's near the bow England finds something, or rather _someone_ of interest. Bending down he lifts the dark head by its mangy hair.

"Is that _you_ Spain? I hadn't expected to run into you at sea." He croons, a malicious giggle following his words. The fellow nation is younger, a bit older than England and this irks him. He distinctly remembers France telling him once that Spain was even younger than England now, but it seems the nation had caught up and surpassed England at some point. Maybe when France stopped visiting him, England muses or possibly he lied. Angry at his previous train of thought, England roughly yanks the older nations head up further before letting it fall to the metal floor; he sneers at the Spanish man. "I'm still the better pirate I see."

"Why?" Spain rasps. Blood bubbles up from the nations mouth and England kicks him over. He is pleased to find that the older nation has a gunshot wound to the neck. Smirking down at the other nation he tugs out his pistol and spins it carelessly on his finger.

"Why? That's quite a silly question I must say." England tells Spain. "My people are starving, we're having quite a terrible famine I'll have you know." He sniffs, "and we have nothing of value to offer to other nations to gain food, so a few select groups deployed by our high king are to pillage any boat we come across for food or things of value." He explains to the Spanish nation. Giving the other a roguish smirk he says "All's fair on open sea." When England turns to leave, the older nation reaches out grasp at his well worn boot.

"_No._" He hisses. Amusement plays on England's features as he brings his attention back to the pathetic nation.

"What is it Spain? Do you wish for me to finish the job?" He inquires, a little wicked smile twisting his lips.

"Why...Why didn't you ask for h-help...?" He asks, breathing erratic and wet.

England glares at him, face taking on a feral, enraged appearance. "From who? It's not like I have Italy or Portugal on my side. France abandoned me _years _ago and nobody else is willing to offer help. The Americas can't do anything to help, they take too _goddamn _long. So you know what? It's all fair, I take what I need from you all and later, when you finally figure out what hit you, it will be too late, I'll already be king of the seas!" He laughs.

"You're _demente_!" Spain murmurs.

"You have to be to be a pirate mate." England chuckles, a smile still on his mouth he points his gun at Spain's head. "Bye-bye Spain." He coos firing one shot off into his fellow nation's forehead. The man's eyes glaze over and his body goes lax, England knows he's not dead, nations don't simply _die_ from a mortal injury.

Whistling a cheerful tune, England heads back to his ship where his men wait for him supplies and treasure loaded onto the boat. "Good work mates!" England crows, waving a triumphant hand into the air. "One more boat and we can go home!" England shouts. His men grin and laugh running to their positions as they leave behind the decimated boat.

England stands at the railing watching the looted boat as they chug away, he watches the flag at first, until it is only a blur of color, then the boat as a whole until it is only a speck in the distance. By the time England steps away from the rail, night is setting in and he can hear his men merrily horsing around bellow deck. Smile teasing at his feature England hums God Save the Queen as he goes to join his men.

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**Thanks for reading! Please review. So, my computer is broken and I could very well need a new one. Thankfully, I had already uploaded a couple chapters for a few stories for final editing, but until I have my laptop fixed or buy a new one expect updates of my stories to be few.  
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**_Words:_  
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**_Demente - Insane.  
_**


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